Amendment I: Wolf's Calling
by HalfCelticHalfWolf
Summary: Experience Middle-earth through the eyes of a wolf, and follow Faolan's journey as a member of the most secretive race in Middle-earth becomes bound to a quest involving a certain ring and a hobbit. Slight AU with new race, & OC! After checking multiple times I can reliably confirm there are no Mary-Sues here!
1. Little Wolf

**I've had this idea in the back of my mind for _ages _now and thought, no better time to write it up and post it than the present. So here it is. I hope you enjoy the weirdness my imagination produces. And there are some footnotes of the bottom of this chapter just for reference. I've uploaded the first six chapters in bulk, and I might do that every time I update the story, just so there's more to look forward too ;)  
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Faolan* sat on a low branch of a tall ash tree, not far from her tribe's territorial boundaries. It was her turn to be the look-out on their Northern borders and it wasn't her particularly favourite job in the world. She preferred the more active duties like hunting and tracking, which required her to use both her brain and body, although look-out duty still had one advantage; it allowed Faolan time alone, time to think and reflect upon things, while keeping alert for any sight, sound or scent of danger.

Faolan and her tribe were a part of a race that many of the people of Middle-Earth had not heard of, or if they had, believed to have faded into a mere myth. The race originated from the evil intent of the Dark Lord Sauron. It was said that, among other titles, Sauron was known as the master of werewolves and that he could take the form of these creatures. He intended to create servants who, like him, could take wolf forms that could track and assassinate the particularly elusive enemies of his. As a result of magic and crossbreeding, Sauron's servant assassins became a new evil race of Middle-Earth. Though small in stature, the Vargkyn or wolf-kin as they were known as, were stealthy and quick on their feet and relatively strong in battle, and of course could shift into wolf form at will. In their Man-like form, the Vargkyn boasted the ears, eyes and tail of a wolf along with other wolf-like attributes; they have what can be considered a mane of fur running from down the back of the neck to between the Vargkyn's shoulders, which bristles when aggressive; claws on their hands and feet in place of nails and superior senses. In these forms, they wore simple clothes for ease of travel leaned towards neutral and dark colours to help them blend in with their surroundings which the Vargkyn still use nowadays for the same reasons. Unlike many other races, the females did not wear feminine clothes but dressed like the males, demonstrating equality of men and women in wolf-kin society. The Vargkyn served the Dark Lord well for a time, until one day the wolf-kin turned on their master, expelling themselves from his service. With that, the Vargkyn disbanded across Middle-Earth settling in tribes or packs in the Wild, avoiding much contact with other races, which lead to the belief that they were extinct. The wild instincts of the wolf enabled them to thrive successfully in the isolated places while they also possessed the advanced minds to think, be creative and make decisions. As years passed, the allegiance that the Vargkyn held with Sauron was eventually forgotten whether deliberately or not, and the Vargkyn in recent years were reluctant to discuss the evil of their ancestors, but were more than content to ignore the world outside of their own tribes.

Faolan, half way through her second decade, was fourth in female rank in her tribe. Faolan wasn't the name given to her at birth but the name she chose for herself, as she preferred its sound over that of her birth name, Faoiltiama**. Much of Vargkyn society reflects that of the wolves', with a male and female leader and their subordinates below them. One could excel in rank when challenging their superior and winning or if a Vargkyn becomes unable to hold their current rank for whatever reason and all those below them move up. The children or pups of the tribe don't enter the hierarchy until they come of age, but until then, they have a hierarchy amongst themselves. Everyone except the leaders took it in turns to perform particular duties rather than being assigned to a particular role which they were especially good at. The leaders took complete charge over the two most important tasks; hunting and defence.

The tribe's territory covered much of the forest they inhabited and a small area around it up to the river than flowed south. Occasionally, a look-out may spot a stranger from further west. Hobbits they were called. They were about the same size as the Vargkyn and had curly hair, pointed ears and hairy feet which were always bare. The Vargkyn became used to them as they posed no threat to them, most likely because the Vargkyn were elusive and the Hobbits were oblivious to their presence. Faolan found these creatures interesting and at times when she was free, she'd wonder out of the territory and travel west, watching the Hobbits from afar, hidden in the top most branches of the ancient trees, absorbing their traditions and culture. The tribe leaders, her parents, didn't much like Faolan's trips away but as long as she didn't bring danger to the rest of them, they were prepared to put up with it. Being instinctively secretive and elusive, Faolan never attracted unwanted attention. One night the Hobbits were holding some kind special event that Faolan had great pleasure in watching. They had fireworks, music, dancing and a lot of ale. The upbeat mood of it all was so contagious that Faolan had to fight the urge to join in with the party. The friendly and happy-go-lucky spirits of the Hobbits was one thing that Faolan envied about them; they didn't take life too seriously and liked to be sociable and have fun, not like Faolan's pack that dismissed her jokes and frowned upon the playful and fun-loving side of her. She might have been considered an adult Vargkyn, capable of taking her role seriously, but at heart she was still the pup that she was in her younger years and always will be. It wasn't that she didn't like life in her tribe; she loved the nights when the pack would come together and howl songs of the Vargkyn and when their elders would tell them stories of Elves, Men, Dwarves and Wizards.

Evening had fallen as the forest grew darker, but that would not prevent Faolan from performing her duties – her wolf eyes could see as well in darkness as they could in daylight. She licked her lips at the thought of food that the hunters will soon return with, wagged her tail in excitement of the old she-Varg's story of the Wood-elves – one of her favourites. As well as hunting the forest animals for food, the Vargkyn live off the land and eat various herbs as part of their diet, and on occasion, taking vegetables from local farmers, much to the farmer's displeasure. There was a time when Faolan and her sister were nearly torn apart by the farmer's dogs after pulling up some of his carrots; they didn't go back there for a long time afterwards.

Faolan was abruptly awoken from her daydream by a distance shriek that pierced her sensitive ears. She bolted upright, clutching her silver birch bow tightly, senses on high alert. Never before had she heard such a horrific sound, Faolan couldn't tell if it was of someone in agony or the call of some dark creature. She pulled an arrow from the quiver slung over her back and attached it to the bow string, ready to fire if she needed to. As well as a bow, Faolan also possessed a short sword abandoned in the forest. She decided she'd keep it since it was a perfectly good weapon; not knowing much about swords Faolan wasn't too sure if it was any good, but as long as it was sharp and pointy, it'll do just fine. The Vargkyn didn't often use swords much, but kept them handy in case a group of Orcs found them. Combat was like a second nature to them, given their origins.

The forest fell silent again, save for the rustling of mice in the leaf litter. Faolan scented the air. There was no scent unknown to her and she relaxed, assured that whatever made that sound had passed. What kind of creature could make such a chilling sound? Faolan leaned back against the tree, pondering it for a fair few minutes when she caught a familiar scent on the evening breeze. It was not of her kin bringing food for her as she had hoped but still a scent she had picked up many times before; Hobbit scent. The scent was far too strong for there to be just one, there must have been many of them. Faolan searched through the darkness and spotted the little shapes of a group of four running between the trees. They seemed rather panicked. Something was amiss here; first the shriek, then four frightened Hobbits. As the group passed her look-out post, Faolan pulled back the string on her bow and called from the branch, "Stop right there, gentlemen!" If there was trouble in these parts, she and her tribe will know about it. The lead Hobbit stopped dead in his tracks, the other three bumping into him. They glanced around the shadows, unable to pin point where the command came from until they spotted Faolan's blazing gold eyes and the pointed arrow.

* * *

**Pronunciations and meanings:**

Pronunciations of these names seem to vary. The 'fao' is pronounced as either 'feh' or 'fway', but I don't speak Gaelic so I'll let you say it how like, or if know better than I do, please do tell me the correct pronunciations.

***Faolan** – little wolf - (Fwail-ahn) or (feh-lahn)

****Faoiltiama **– wolf lady - (Fway-o-ti-ah-ma) or (fay-o-ti-ah-ma)


	2. Bree

"Well, well," Faolan growled, "What business would four Hobbits have in the Old Forest at such a late hour?"

The leader put on a brave face and a confident tone said, "That is none of your business, creature of shadow."

Faolan's eyes narrowed; he was certainly a brave Hobbit, if slightly foolish. "You will find that it is my business. This is my territory you're passing through and I will question anyone that looks suspicious, so get on with it."

No one spoke but stood gormlessly with confused expressions. Faolan sometimes forgot that she and her race were dead to the world after spending so much time in their company without them remotely noticing. She sighed deeply, annoyed that she could forget something so important. The she-Varg hesitated, considering the decision to announce her race and the Vargkyn's existence to the Hobbits. In doing so it would explain to them her peculiar appearance and behaviour, but in the long run could have catastrophic effects on, not just Faolan's tribe, but the Vargkyn as a whole. If word spread of their survival, the Dark Lord might come looking for them and either slaughter everyone or force them to return to their evil role of killing. No, she'd stay firmly where she was.

"Never mind that," Faolan softened her tone and lowered her weapon, "I heard a...horrid shriek earlier. Would you happen to know what it was?" That noise had been gnawing at Faolan's mind. There was something about it that could not ignore, and sent an icy chill down her spine.

The Hobbits glanced at each other. They knew what Faolan was referring to. "We are being hunted by riders in black and making our way to Bree. That would be what you heard."

Faolan's ear perked. Riders in black that shriek? She had heard that Sauron had servants clad entirely in black and mounted on huge black horses - the Nazgûl. But if they were Nazgûl, then that must mean that Sauron has found his ring – the One Ring – and sent them to retrieve it. And the Nazgûl were hunting the Hobbits, which could only mean that one of them must have the Ring. Fascinated, Faolan hopped down from her perch landing effortlessly on her feet like a cat. After a bit of consideration and putting things into perspective, there was little harm that could be brought to her or her tribe from this act. Who would believe a few Hobbits' story of meeting a wolf-kin anyway? Faolan stood before the lead Hobbit; she could see him more clearly now. He was ever so slightly taller than her, in fact, the all were. His curly hair was much darker than the others' and had extraordinarily bright blue eyes. Though, despite his handsome features, there was an unsettling unnatural vibe emanating from this Hobbit. Having ancestors that served the Dark Lord and being part wolf, Vargkyn can sense power. Having never sensed it before, Faolan wasn't sure but instinct told her there was great power here. This Hobbit bore the Ring. The Nazgûl were probably on the Hobbits' trail as they stood in the forest in silence. Faolan had no idea what to do now that she had come into contact with the Ringbearer, but what she did know was that under no circumstances could she let the Hobbits be killed and the Ring taken to Sauron. In spite of their ignorance, even the Vargkyn knew this important fact. Faolan decided that she would get the Hobbits to safety and help them in any way she could until then, ignoring the old traditions of the Vargkyn. As far as Faolan was concerned, in situations such as this, tradition was least important thing on her mind. Blanking the surprised looks from the Hobbits, Faolan asked, "Bree, you say?"

The Ringbearer nodded.

"Right. Come along, then, and stay close." The she-Varg began leading the Hobbits along a trail through the forest. She knew this forest better than most, so hopefully no Nazgûl would follow them and they'd make it to Bree in no time. The Hobbits hesitantly followed; they had little choice in the matter. Any questions that they had for Faolan, and it's more than likely that they did, would have to wait until later.

There were few sights or sounds of the Nazgûl as the group trudged through the damp undergrowth, which Faolan considered to be extremely lucky; she honestly did not know what she would have done if a rider caught them unawares, but hoped that wraiths had been shaken off as they ventured further into the forest. The Hobbits were quiet also except for the occasional mutter. Their distrust in Faolan was apparent; they kept a yard's distance between themselves and the she-Varg throughout the walk and whispered suspicious theories about her allegiances to good or evil to one another. Faolan let them – it gave them something to do and took their mind of the rain. She, however, wasn't as warm and dry as she would have liked; Faolan could have shifted to her wolf form in order to keep the water off her skin but instead braved the cold so as not to frighten the Hobbits even more. In wolf form, a Vargkyn stands at around four feet at the shoulder; larger than an ordinary wolf but a foot smaller than the wolf's cousin, the Warg. At times when the group stopped for a rest, the Hobbits would stay close together but Faolan would find herself a tree to perch in, keeping an eye and ear out for Nazgûl and another eye on the Ringbearer. She remained silent for the majority of the time other than to tell the others it was time to get moving again.

Faolan's temper was running short by the time the group arrived at Bree. It was still raining and she was completely soaked to the bone and shivering. The village of Bree was surrounded by a timber wall around six or seven feet high, in which was a door with two hatches, one Man height, then other Hobbit height. Faolan said nothing but pushed the Ringbearering Hobbit to the front who knocked on the door six times. They were greeted by the door man on other side who opened the top hatch first, then bottom hatch. "What do you want?" he asked seeming rather irritable.

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony," the lead Hobbit informed the man.

The man closed the hatch and opened the timber door, holding up a lantern. He looked to be rather old with some teeth missing and had a hooked nose, "Hobbits? Five Hobbits?" He had failed to notice Faolan's distinctive wolf ears that were now flattened against her head due to the weight of the water soaked into the soft fur, mistaking her for a Hobbit. "What's more, out of the Shire by your talk. What business brings you to Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own."

"All right, young sir, I meant no offense," the man stood to one side, leading them inside the village, "It's my job to ask questions after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful."

The downpour acted like a fog making it difficult even for Faolan to see. More than once they nearly bumped into a tall person or horse-pulled cart. The ground was completely water logged and sludgy covering their feet with mud. The Prancing Pony was a somewhat rowdy place but it was warm and dry so Faolan couldn't complain. As they entered, she shook what water she could from her body. The Hobbits stood up to the bar, which also was much taller than them, the lead Hobbit calling the attention of the bar tender.

"Good evening, little masters," he greeted them, much more cheerful than the door man, "What can I do for you? If you're looking for accommodation, we have got some nice cosy Hobbit-sized rooms available. Always proud to cater to Little Folk, Mr..."

The Hobbit hesitated for a moment, "Underhill. My name is Underhill. We're friends of Gandalf the Grey, can you tell him we've arrived?"

Faolan did not know of this Gandalf but assumed that he would be able to keep the Hobbits and the Ring safe. She would make sure that they met him, then bid them farewell and go home back to her family. However, all too soon, that comforting plan went out the window when the bar tender said he had not seen Gandalf in six months. Faolan growled, frustrated. The Hobbits decided they would wait there for Gandalf to arrive, so Faolan made herself comfortable at a solid wooden table in front of a huge open fire to dry off and warm up. The Hobbits joined her with mugs of ale, the chunkiest one chewing on some bread. She noticed a couple of the Men giving her strange and curious looks; she expected no less. If she kept a low profile, Faolan thought she would be less noticeable. One man in particular though never seemed to avert his gaze from the table, but it was difficult to tell as he had his hood up which cast a shadow over most of his face. He sat alone in the secluded corner smoking a pipe. Faolan thought that this man might have ill intentions in mind for herself and the Hobbits, and so kept an eye on him. She also took this time to examine her accomplices more closely and picked up their names from listening to the conversations between them; the Ringbearing Hobbit was called Frodo and, judging by his clothes, was quite well off. The second Hobbit, and the chunkiest, was probably less advantaged as his clothes we're simpler and less elaborate than those of the other Hobbits, and went by the name of Sam. The third sat at the table with a mug that must have been bigger than his own head; his name was Merry. The fourth, and the youngest going by his care-free behaviour, was Pippin; Faolan got the impression that he couldn't be left alone for too long before something stupid or bad happened. She also noticed that the four of them had grown a little more comfortable in her company, and was quite content with that.

Sam had also noticed the suspicious man in the corner and pointed him out to Frodo, "That fellow's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived."

Frodo glanced at him through the corner of his eye before stopping the bar tender. "Excuse me," he asked keeping his voice low, "That man in the corner – who is he?"

Faolan's ears perked as she intently listened to what the man had to say. "He's one of them Rangers," he began to explain, "Dangerous folk they are, wandering the Wilds. What his right name is, I've never heard, but around here he's known as Strider."

This Strider certainly sounded like a servant of the Dark Lord to Faolan; to be so secretive and to hide his true identity equated to such a career in her mind. She hoped that Gandalf would arrive soon. The sooner he did, the sooner she'd be able to go home and avoid getting tangled up into more Ring-related situations. Faolan's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Pippin calling from the bar, "Sure, I know a Baggins. He's over there, Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side..."

What was that little Hobbit up to now? Was he so drunk that he even forgot his friend's name? Or perhaps Frodo wasn't an Underhill at all but was in fact a Baggins. Faolan placed her face in her palm, realising what Pippin had done; Frodo changed his name intentionally so the Dark Lord's servants wouldn't find him and now his cover was blown. Frodo spun round and darted between the tall folk after Pippin, slipping on something and falling backwards in the process. As he landed though, something happened that was rather unexpected; the Hobbit seemed to vanish into thin air. The company glanced at each other confused and in shock. Faolan knew exactly what had occurred as a power, similar to the one that she felt in the forest, seemed to pull her towards it like a magnet. She gritted her teeth and dug her claws into the table in order to restrain herself, growling quietly, "You must take the Ring off, Frodo!"

A minute later, and not a moment too soon, the magnetic pull had subsided and Faolan could relax. Frodo had reappeared, leaning against a beam that held up the ceiling when a hand grasped him by the shoulder and pulled him away. Amid the crowd of perplexed people, Faolan caught sight of the hooded Strider dragging Frodo up some stairs. She cursed under her breath at how ridiculously troublesome the entire situation had become. Gathering the other hobbits, who took chairs and candlesticks to use as weapons, Faolan and the others followed Strider up the stairs to a corridor dotted with a few doors on either side. As much as she hated getting involved, she guessed she would have to try and rescue him so that the Ring didn't get into the wrong hands. In the corridor, Faolan halted, considering her wolf form. She thought that the sight of an angered wolf might scare the man enough to hand Frodo over safe and sound. The decision made, the she-Varg's shape changed from something a bit Hobbit-like to something far more lupine. The wolf's pelt was a dark grey, almost black in some places, on the top of her head, and down her back to the tip of her tail and grew progressively paler down her sides to completely white underneath. Ignoring the frightened and curious glances from the Hobbits, Faolan trotted to where Frodo was kidnapped by following his scent.

The rescuers approached the room quietly. They could hear Frodo and Strider talking inside. Faolan lunged at the wooden door snarling, pushing it open. Strider swung round drawing his sword as Faolan bared her teeth menacingly, ears forward, tail raised horizontally.

"Let him go! Or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Sam growled with his fists raised. The plan didn't quite go as Faolan had planned; Strider wasn't the least bit frightened.

"You have a stout heart, little Hobbit," he returned his sword to its scabbard. "But that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They are coming."

Faolan calmed and turned an ear back questioningly. Why would Strider want to help them? What motivation could there possibly be? Faolan still did not trust him and kept to her wolf form as he lead the group to a different inn, just across the way from the Prancing Pony, since the Nazgûl knew that was where Frodo was. Or so they thought. Faolan curled up by the fire in their room, as Strider sat on a stool by the window, watching the wraiths ride on their black steeds to the Prancing Pony. The Hobbits, except for Frodo, slept quite soundly until the frustrated shrieks of the Nazgûl rudely woke them. Faolan lowered her ears and whimpered fearfully.

"What are they?" Frodo asked in a hushed voice.

Strider began explaining to origins of these creatures and their purpose to the Dark Lord, "They were once Men. Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one, falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl. Ringwraiths. Neither living nor dead. All times they feel the presence of the Ring drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."


	3. Into the Wild

Early the following morning, Strider took the group of little ones into the wilderness, not telling them where they were headed or why they were going. An old pony named Bill was bought to carry their luggage, lead by Sam. Faolan felt right at home in this environment as she was used to it, however the same couldn't be said for the Hobbits who grew tired quickly and had a tendency to fall behind, especially the youngest and littlest, Pippin.

On days when it was cold and flurries of snow fell from the grey sky, or the terrain proved to be challenging, Faolan would use her shape-shifting abilities to her advantage; her thick pelt providing protection from damp and cold, her agility and balance to bound through the deepest snow or marsh. Faolan would also hunt for them, while Strider kept an eye out for the Nazgûl, and was rewarded with each member of the group's trust every time she brought a young deer or a few hares.

The Hobbits had strange meal habits. At the beginning, they insisted on having up to seven meals a day – breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper. Faolan wondered how people so small could eat so much. Strider would not tolerate this; they were to have one meal in the morning, stop for a short break in the afternoon, and have their evening meal when the day's travelling was done.

More than once did Frodo or another Hobbit ask Strider where he was taking them, to which he would reply with "Into the wild," every time. This began to irritate Faolan and she couldn't help but ask, "But where are we headed?"

Instead of ignoring her, like she thought he would, Strider replied with, "Rivendell, wolf friend. To the house of Elrond."

The Hobbits were most pleased at this news. Elves were respected throughout the land by most people, except the evil creatures such as Orcs, of course. Faolan too very much liked the idea. She had never met an Elf and only heard tales and stories about them, but would have loved nothing more than to meet them, although, she did feel rather nervous. Elves live for over thousands of years and see and remember much. She could not anticipate how they would react to her presence, whether they would cast her out or hospitably accept her. All the she-Varg could do was to wait and see.

* * *

As evening began to descend on Eriador, the travellers came to a hill with a stone ruin atop it. "This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl," Strider paused, gazing at it before turning to the little ones, "We shall rest here tonight."

The group sheltered beneath a rocky overhang, under where the tower once stood. The Hobbits collapsed in an exhausted heap. Strider placed a piece of cloth with something inside it on the floor, unwrapped it revealing four short swords, handing one to each of the Hobbits, "These are for you. Keep them close. I'm going to have a look around." Some of them examined the blades wonderingly, while the others hesitated, nervous about handling a blade.

The remaining accomplices ate something small and uncooked quietly together, since lighting a fire to cook would have been a bad idea in such an exposed location. Faolan sensed the Hobbits trusted her enough to know she was not an enemy, but not enough to call her a friend; however she was content that she was no longer seen as a threat. After the small supper, the she-Varg climbed to the top of the tower where she could see over much of the landscape to keep look out while Strider was gone. Faolan sat down and sighed heavily. How on earth had she managed to get roped into this mess? If she had just let the Hobbits pass by while she was on look-out duty and not interfered, she wouldn't have anything to do with Strider, the Hobbits or that confounded ring! As soon as they got to Rivendell, after a short rest, Faolan was adamant that she would immediately go home and no longer be involved.

The smell of frying bacon interrupted her train of thought, making her mouth water, until the sudden realisation of what was happening beneath the overhang occurred to her. As she hurried down to the lower level she heard Frodo yelling at the others to stop. She observed the scene giving disdainful glances at the Hobbits half way through chewing something. A shriek sounded from the foot of the hill – the all too familiar shriek that sent chills down Faolan's spine. Five Nazgûl approached the tower purposefully. Faolan whimpered fearfully. There was no way the little ones could fend off the wraiths by themselves. The wraiths already knew that they were there so howling wouldn't cause any more harm, so Faolan howled for Strider to return, hoping that he would understand the message. The Hobbits drew their swords, made their way to the top of the tower and formed and circle with Faolan, their backs to each other. Faolan switched the her Man-like form wielding her sword knowing she will be able to better protect herself with a blade than with tooth and claw. "Great. I'm going to die here because of your ridiculous need to have seven meals a day," she growled, elbowing the nearest Hobbit.

The she-Varg turned, upon hearing something's heavy metallic footsteps, to see the first of the Nazgûl close in on them, followed by the four others. They drew their long swords and held them in front of their faces, if they even had faces. As they converged ever closer, Faolan felt her muscles go weak from fright, her instincts yelling at her, commanding her to run. Despite how feeble she felt at that moment, Faolan stood her ground, feeling compelled to protect the Hobbits also since Strider had not returned. Did the Nazgûl kill him too?

Sam, the bravest of all of them, stepped forward. "Back, you devils!" he commanded, attempting to strike at a wraith. The Nazgûl parried his blows with ease and cast him aside. Merry and Pippin then valiantly stood between Frodo and the Nazgûl in an effort to protect him, and also unintentionally showing him as the important one. They too were thrown aside. Frodo dropped his sword and fell backwards out of fear. Faolan could completely empathise with how he felt. Deciding that a final act of courage is better to be remembered by than a final act of cowardice, Faolan leapt between the Nazgûl and the Hobbit, ears turned sideways and laid back, the tip of her tail curled up. Her skill with the sword was more than that of the Hobbits, but her strength would not match the wraith's and soon she was flung to one side too. Her entire body ached from colliding with the stone wall with such force. There was little she could do for Frodo now, she thought despairingly as the magnetic pull of the Ring's power beckoned to her, but she hurt too much to react.

An orange light appeared over the rise of the hill as Strider returned, wielding a flaming torch and his sword. Faolan breathed a sigh of relief; he was alive and well, and this fight was not over yet. The man fought of the Nazgûl with great skill, parrying their blows, dodging their blades and setting them aflame one by one. The air resounded with the Nazgûls' frustrated and angered shrieks as they retreated, their black robes scorched and burning. The last one was dealt with by the torch thrown directly in, supposedly, its face.

Frodo reappeared leaning against a large piece of stone, screaming in agony. Merry helped Faolan to her feet and they knelt by Frodo with the other Hobbits, examining the wound. The Nazgûl had stabbed him in the shoulder. The wound was deep and, to Frodo, was extremely painful. Faolan thought it would take a lot of power to heal. Strider also knelt by Frodo, examining the blade with which Frodo was stabbed, "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." The blade disintegrated and Strider threw the handle to the ground. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine."

Strider scooped Frodo up, carrying him over his shoulder. The Hobbits quickly grabbed their essentials and hastened after the Ranger towards Rivendell. Faolan wasn't sure how long it would take for them to reach Rivendell at this pace, until Sam spoke up gravely, "We're six days from Rivendell. He'll never make it!"

Faolan had to agree with him; there wasn't a chance in Arda that Frodo would survive six day's travelling in his state. Yet they still soldiered on in a desperate effort to save him.

* * *

They had been walking at a fast pace for most of the night. It must have been some time after midnight when they stopped for a few minutes in a wooded area with three stone trolls. At first Faolan froze until she noticed that they had no scent. Frodo lay on the ground wrapped up in his cloak, shaking. He had turned pale and his eyes began to cloud over. Sam placed a hand upon his brow. "He's going cold!" he called out in despair.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin, who held a flaming torch, asked shakily.

Strider stood a few yards away from the Hobbits, also holding up a torch, looking through the darkness, "He is passing into the Shadow World. He'll soon become a wraith like them."

On that note, the noise of the Nazgûl resounded throughout the wood, the echoes bouncing off the trees. Faolan let out a low growl; she won't allow that to happen. She remembered that in her tribe, the Vargkyn used a weed called Athelas to heal wounds that they acquired such as snake bites from adders. Perhaps it might help to heal Frodo's wound. The she-Varg then turned and darted back into the wood purposefully, searching for Athelas plants. They had a very distinctive scent, so they weren't too difficult to find. She found a clump of them in the undergrowth and pulled off a bunch of sprigs. It seemed that Strider and Sam had a similar. Great minds think alike. Faolan handed some of the Athelas sprigs to Strider, who tilted his head at her approvingly, before dashing back to the Hobbits to treat Frodo's wound. Nudging Pippin aside, Faolan revealed the stab wound. The scent of Athelas calmed their nerves, as Faolan gently placed the torn off leaves and tiny flowers onto the wound. Frodo yelped and winced – of course the wound as sensitive. The she-Varg apologised under her breath, but it had to be done.

Sam and Strider returned to the clearing, however they were accompanied by another being who seemed to emanate a graceful and peaceful aura. She was a fair skinned and dark haired elf who arrived on a handsome white stallion. As she approached Frodo, Faolan backed away, wolf ears lowered, however, the she-elf took no notice of her or the other hobbits.

"He is fading. He is not going to last," the she-elf spoke in a soft voice, "we must get him to my father." Strider scooped the injured hobbit up and sat him on the elf's stallion. He and the elf exchanged words in elvish, which the others did not understand. Faolan guessed that they knew each other well from the way they talked and looked at each other.

The she-elf mounted the horse and galloped away into the wood towards Rivendell. Sam snapped angrily at Strider, "What are you doing?! Those wraiths are still out there!"

Strider did not reply, but Faolan understood that Frodo had more of a chance to survive with the elf than with them; the horse galloped at great speed, but the hobbits, man, pony and Vargkyn trudged slowly. All they could do now was make their own way to Rivendell and hope that Frodo would still be alive when they got there.


	4. The Last Homely House

The hobbits, Faolan and Strider arrived during the evening in Rivendell a few days after Frodo and the elf that took him away through the wilderness and across the river. When the group crossed the river and the boundaries of the elves' realm, they were greeted by several elves, all of them rather tall and dark haired. The first one to greet them was of the highest status, as Strider dipped his head and made a gesture in respect. He was Lord Elrond - the father of the she-elf that brought Frodo here. He didn't look old but Faolan was sure that he was probably at least a good few thousand years old, as his eyes held a look suggesting he had seen an awful lot in his lifetime. Faolan lowered her ears and tail and averted her gaze; a submissive gesture of her kind. The elf lord looked each one of them over. The she-Varg was all too aware when his old eyes fell upon her; she could feel the piercing glare when he recognised her race. She trembled nervously, not daring to meet the elf's gaze. Faolan expected him to throw her out immediately but instead his gaze softened and he had the other elves escort them to their separate quarters where they may rest, eat and bathe.

Faolan felt much more than simple relief when she was allowed to pass into the Last Homely House East of the Sea, but also some degree of acceptance. She was far too tired to pay attention to her surroundings at the time, knowing that not doing so would not have any detrimental implications in this place. The smaller members of the group had to walk briskly to keep up with the elves' long strides. When Faolan was shown her own room, she was quite surprised; it was a very decent size and offered all the creature comforts she could ask for. The first thing that drew her attention was the bed – you could probably fit five of her laid side by side in that bed, and also the fact that it had a proper mattress, pillows and blankets. Further back was a balcony where she could look out across the valley, or gaze up at the moon at night. Opposite the bed was a basin with a tall jug beside it. Initially, Faolan thought it was some sort of extravagant water bowl to drink from, but turned out to be for washing oneself with, much to her embarrassment. Several candle sticks were dotted around the edge of the room as a source of light when it grew dark as well as one or two comfy looking chairs. The elf left the she-Varg to go about her business, but Faolan wasn't sure what her business was. At home she lived without such luxuries and all this was quite new to her. She left her weapons by the door knowing she wouldn't need to use them any time soon and shuffled over to the huge bed, yawning widely. When she hopped onto the mattress, it was amazingly comfy as she sank into it and the material hugged her small form. Now, you'd have thought Faolan would have got into bed like any man, elf, dwarf or hobbit would, but Faolan isn't either of these. Instead, she removed the blanket from its normal place draped over the mattress, curled up in a foetal position and wrapped the blanket tightly around her like a gift wrapped in brown paper, not bothering with the pillows. Back home in the Old Forest, it was a patch of moss and ferns that made a Vargkyn's bed in summer. In winter the pack would find somewhere like a hollowed out space beneath the roots of a tree and huddle together to protect them from the cold and snow.

* * *

Faolan woke early the next morning feeling the best she had felt in a long time. She got up out of her parcel-like sleeping position, stretched and yawned feeling content, peaceful and well rested. Except for her stomach which growled louder than her father when he was angry, demanding food. The hungry she-Varg followed the smell of fried bacon and potatoes to a grand hall where she found the hobbits Sam, Merry and Pippin being waited on and eating breakfast, or was it second breakfast? Either way, Faolan sat with them, took a teapot that a bit too big for her and poured herself a cuppa. The hobbits sat with an old man Faolan did not recognise. He had long grey hair, the same for his beard, wore grey cloth robes and smoked a pipe. He obviously wasn't an elf and Faolan cast curious glances at him as he chatted with the hobbits. He too appeared to be inspecting her in a similar manner to Elrond, though she expected that to happen. Faolan took a sip of tea when Merry gave her a nudge and said, "This is Gandalf," he said after swallowing a mouthful of bread and butter, "the one we were waiting for in Bree."

So this was the wizard. He had a much kinder and gentler look about him than Faolan had expected, but did not doubt his power despite the old man image. Faolan addressed him politely, as she would anyone who was of superior authority. It was then that she realised that she had not introduced herself since she met the hobbits in the forest. Though the situation at the time wasn't really the moment for formalities, Faolan thought herself rude and corrected her discourteous behaviour, "I'm sorry I did not introduce myself before. I am Faolan, a Vargkyn. My tribe and I live in the Old Forest."

The hobbits held confused expressions; they had not heard of the wolf-kin, but Gandalf, who in all his long years knew the Vargkyn race inside out, was pleasantly surprised.

"I never expected one of the wolf-kin to walk with hobbits and men so openly," Gandalf said in a kind voice, "I was almost beginning to believe that your race had passed into legend because of your elusive nature."

Faolan was not sure what to say; she wasn't used to conversations with strangers and felt very awkward. "Indeed, sir," she managed a feeble whimper, "it was better for us that way because of our reputation. So I am told."

Merry joined their conversation, "What reputation is that?"

Faolan gazed sadly into her tea, recalling the reasons told to her why the Vargkyn made themselves almost dead to the rest of the world. "Our race was once evil, servants of Sauron. For many years we were his assassins, killing many good souls. But then we turned against him and fled to the wilderness, separating in small packs or tribes. We were hated by all because of our evil deeds, and to avoid the hateful treatment from the other races we thrived in the secluded places, avoiding all contact with them to this day."

A plate of bacon and fried potatoes was placed in front of her and Faolan was glad to finally have some food and something to distract her from the conversation. Cutlery wasn't commonplace in Vargkyn society, but luckily for her, Faolan knew how to use and knife and fork after her times watching the hobbits. She ate breakfast quickly, another habit of the Vargkyn's, then decided to go for a wander around Rivendell and marvel at the architecture.

Faolan spent a good amount of her time in Rivendell exploring all that the elf-city had to offer. One thing that amazed her was that the buildings were built with nature, were in tune with it and everywhere had a strange yet calming scent. While Faolan was exploring the rooms and flowing corridors, she came across the library; a quiet room with many bookshelves full of small journal-like books and big tomes. There was also and sculpture and a pedestal where the shards of a broken sword lay, and a painting of Sauron standing over Isildur, King of Gondor. But the things that interested Faolan the most had to be the books. She'd sit in the library for hours sometimes going through shelf after shelf. Though the she-Varg could not read, she thoroughly enjoyed looking at the detailed illustrations of weapons, animals, plants, dragons, maps and many other things.

As well as spending time in the library, Faolan would sit and talk with the hobbits, and occasionally Gandalf and Strider, as they got to know each other better. Although she hadn't known the little company long, she felt that she held and small bond with each of them having been through such perilous danger together and helping one another through it. Sam, who Faolan had nicknamed Podgy, loved plants and elves; he was over the moon at staying in Rivendell. He also had a talent for poetry and believed that there were greater things in the world that most hobbits are oblivious to. Merry and Pippin were very close friends and cousins and probably the most fun-loving of the group, judging by the amusing stories they told of their pranks. Merry was eight years older than his cousin and somewhat the more intelligent and perceptive of the two. Pippin, the smallest and youngest at twenty eight years of age had not yet reached adulthood according to a hobbit's maturation rate. Yet he was still older than Faolan, but Faolan was a fully fledged adult Vargkyn so she liked to consider herself older, but that was up for debate. Being in youngest, he was probably the most naive, yet always had something to be cheerful about; Faolan quite liked this quality. Also during her stay, Faolan was introduced to Bilbo, Frodo's uncle. He was elderly and growing somewhat frail but was highly entertaining and had some wonderful stories to tell of his adventures; the she-Varg liked the one about Smaug the dragon particularly.

Frodo had finally awoken about a week after the others' arrival. Sam being the loyal friend that he was continually fussed over him, checking he was well. When the recovered hobbit came down to greet his friends and the peculiar wolf-like creature that travelled with them, the hobbits laughed together and embraced one another, thrilled to see each other alive and well. Faolan too was pleased to see him, but she did not pull him into a hug as the others did. Instead she placed a hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture, and then did they admit to a slightly hesitant embrace. Faolan did not do physical contact with those she had not formed a close bond with, but Frodo had a calm demeanour and was a kind and gentle hobbit; soon she knew that he and the other hobbits posed no sort of threat. Frodo was reunited and allowed time to catch up with his beloved uncle. Faolan picked up, on her own catching up with Ringbearer, that he and Bilbo were very much alike. Both were rather eccentric for hobbits with their fascination with elves and lands beyond the Shire.

* * *

Faolan the she-Varg sat on her balcony one clear evening watching the moon and stars, when Lord Elrond approached her almost silently if not for her keen wolf senses. "Good evening, my Lord," she greeted him, keeping her eyes fixed on the silver orb in the sky, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The elf lord replied in his low, wise tone, "I wish to disclose an invitation to the council meeting tomorrow, to discuss what we, as citizens of Middle-earth must do with the One Ring."

Faolan met the elf's gaze, the first time she had done. It was a vital matter that they were to discuss, one that involved all those good at heart. She was pleased to know that Elrond recognised her and her race as being part of that group. Faolan would represent her race as a whole but it was impossible for her to know the values of the Vargkyn outside of her tribe, and yet Elrond had no one else he could ask. The she-varg did not answer his question, but asked her own: "Why did you change your mind?"

He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"You knew what I was the minute you laid eyes on me. You knew of the Vargkyn's past, and I felt the loathsome glare. Yet you changed your mind and accepted me into your house. Why?"

Elrond leaned against the banister, looking across the valley. "I have encountered your kind before and know what you are capable of. But you travelling this far with the Ring within your reach and not taking for yourself demonstrated the Vargkyn's true change of heart."

"I do not deny that I am attracted to the Ring's power. Those dark instincts of my ancestors still have the power to manipulate my behaviour, even after all this time," Faolan gave a low growl of irritation, then answered Lord Elrond's question, "I will attend your council. It is only right to have at least one of every race together to discuss the matter."

Content with Faolan's decision, he nodded, bade her good night and took his leave. Faolan had her own opinions about the Ring and happily share them with others in the hope that collectively they will make a good decision as to the Ring's fate.


	5. The Council

As usual, Faolan woke early, had breakfast with a cup of tea and washed. But afterwards, instead of going to sit in the library or have a casual chat with her new hobbit friends, she followed Elrond's directions to the council chamber where she would join in with the meeting. The room was a large round one with many chairs lining the edge and in the centre of the room was a stone pedestal. Some of the council attendees were already seated; elves, men and dwarves, and the familiar faces of Strider, Gandalf, Frodo and Elrond. Faolan didn't expect there to be so many. She timidly walked to a smaller chair and sat next to Frodo, with whom she felt most comfortable – she still wasn't used to the company of such large groups of people. Despite her discomfort, Faolan kept her ears upright, trying to show no intimidation as many eyes followed her, curious and sometimes suspicious about the wolfish being. Something in the room wasn't quite right though; Faolan scented the air a couple of times, making sure her nose wasn't playing tricks on her. She could smell four hobbits, yet only one sat with her in the circle. What were the mischievous bunch up to now?

When all the empty seats had been filled and silence had fallen among all attending, Elrond rose and began the meeting, "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, to this one doom." An air of foreboding enveloped each of them as they glanced around nervously at each other. It wasn't the most pleasant thing to start, but then again, it was not a pleasant matter. Elrond then address the hobbit, "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Frodo hesitantly rose and stepped towards the central pedestal. Upon it, he gently placed a small and simple gold band. The One Ring. Any remaining doubts the Faolan had about the hobbit possessing the Ring were cleared. There were gasps and mutters of surprise all around the room. As Faolan stared at the object, she fancied that it was trying to communicate with her; its magnetic pull and seductive promises of power and greatness whispering, beckoning to her. Faolan could also sense Frodo growing increasingly uncomfortable beside her. She would have attempted to comfort him but did not dare to break her concentration as she resisted the powerful pull of the Ring, which was much more difficult when she could see it as well as feel it.

Suddenly her attention was diverted elsewhere when a well dressed man sat across from her rose from his chair and began to speak, "In a dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark but in the west a pale light lingered," the man edged toward the pedestal as he spoke, "A voice was crying: "doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found." Isildur's Bane." The man's hand was now outstretched towards the Ring.

The Vargkyn snapped at him once, though whether it was possessiveness or protectiveness that compelled her, she wasn't sure. Gandalf began chanting something in a deep, thundering voice that made Faolan tense all over. The room grew dark as if a cloud passed over the sun, some of the elves winced and Boromir, that well dressed, devious man, returned to his seat. As the darkness receded, Elrond snapped at Gandalf, "Never before as any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris."

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," the wizard turned to address the group, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west! The Ring is altogether evil!" Faolan couldn't agree more with that fact. But apparently, Boromir did not.

"It is a gift," he retorted, "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this ring?"

Faolan had begun to form an idea about Boromir's motives; he wanted to convince the others that Ring could be used for good so that he may take it back home and be the most power man in Middle-earth. But of course, that could not be done, and Faolan would make sure of that one way or another. She also questioned her own motivations though – were they really from the good side of her?

Boromir continued, wandering the council room as he did, "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him."

Being the geographically closest to Mordor, Faolan understood that the Gondorians took the full force of Sauron's assaults upon men and she could sympathise but using his own weapon against him was not the way to fix the problem. Strider recognised this and spoke up, "You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

The she-Varg's ears perked; she'd keep that in mind the next time the Ring offers her false promises.

Boromir turned to Strider staring him down as if her were inferior, "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" he said scornfully.

A fair elf shot up from his chair, evidently agitated. "This is no mere Ranger," he scolded Boromir, "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

All eyes turned to Aragorn, surprised. Except for Faolan's that is. She was probably the only person in the room who hadn't the faintest idea what that meant. She turned to Frodo and whispered, "I can tell that means something important but I honestly have no clue. Would you care to explain?"

"Aragorn is the heir of Isildur and the rightful King of Gondor," Frodo whisper a reply. That explained a lot.

Boromir was equally baffled but not in a pleased way, "Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the elf butt in. Aragorn said something to him in elvish, prompting the elf to sit down.

Boromir turned back to his own chair and growled, "Gondor has no King. Gondor needs no King." Faolan decided that she did not like this man at all and kept a close eye on him.

There was a long silence before Gandalf continued the meeting, "Aragorn is right; we cannot use it."

Lord Elrond stood again, addressing everyone, "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed," he asserted. The thought of actually destroying the Ring seemed to astonish most people. Boromir, however, as Faolan had expected wasn't too pleased with the idea at all. She knew destroying it would be no easy task, knowing what such a task would entail but it was the ideal solution. Doing so would rid them of Sauron, of the temptation that taunted so many and prevent many unnecessary deaths.

"I can concur with that," Faolan spoke out loud, attempting to encourage the others to agree.

A stumpy dwarf with an auburn beard growled, "What are we waiting for?" before stand, wielding his axe and bringing it down upon the Ring. Faolan yelped as the axe blade shattered, sending the dwarf flying backwards, while the Ring remained unscathed.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade," Elrond instructed, "It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back in the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

Again, silence fell. Destroying the Ring was easier said than done, and Faolan was unsure about the possibility of wandering into Mordor with the Ring practically under Sauron's nose and throwing it into the fires of the explosive mountain.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir began the absurdness of it all evident on his face. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

With that acknowledged, Faolan began thinking of other possible ways to get the Ring to Mordor without Sauron noticing. It was tricky; there seemed to be nothing that could effectively get over the walls of Mordor unnoticed. And anything that did have the possibility of working were so absurd they were stupid.

Faolan's thoughts were interrupted when the same elf from earlier burst out with, "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond just said? The Ring must be destroyed."

"Yes, we're aware of that," Faolan growled under her breath. Surely that elf didn't think they were all simpletons.

And this was when all of Undûn broke loose; "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" growled Gimli, who began to throw racist comments at the elves. Boromir also spoke out, speaking of their possible failure and Sauron's return. Soon the majority of the council argued together with raised voice, even Gandalf. Frodo, Faolan, Aragorn and Elrond remained seated, waiting patiently for the arguments to die down. The she-Varg leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, scowling in the council members yelling at each other. "At this rate Sauron will have taken over the whole of Middle-earth before we come to any sort of agreement," she growled.

Then at that moment, much to Faolan's surprise, Frodo stood with a look of determination of his face. "I will take it," he repeated twice before the squabbling elves, men and dwarves noticed him and fell silent. "I will take the Ring to Mordor." All faces gazed at him in astonishment. Faolan felt a strange sense of pride; it was not only big folk that could do great things. "Though I do not know the way."

Gandalf turned to his little friend and placed his large hand on his shoulder, "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

Then Aragorn rose from his chair and spoke proudly, "If by my life or death I can protect you I will." He knelt before Frodo, "You have my sword."

The assertive elf and argumentative dwarf also offered their service to the hobbit, bows and axes included.

Faolan glared at Boromir as he approached the hobbit; she did not trust him regardless. "You carry the fates of us all little one," he said, "If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

The she-varg was startled by a sudden, familiar bark from behind her as Sam leapt out of the bushes. So that was where the nosy hobbit was hiding! But where were the other two? He pushed Boromir aside and stood boldly next to his friend, "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me." Faolan smiled at him, for she admired his constant bravery and loyalty.

"Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you two even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," Elrond remarked with a slight smirk.

"Oi! We're coming too!" came another familiar voice from behind a pillar, accompanied by the faces of Merry and Pippin. And there are the other two, Faolan thought chuckling. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack stop us," Merry declared.

"That can be easily arranged," Faolan said, throwing them both a playful glance.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission...quest...thing," young Pippin made a terrible effort to appear useful to the mission quest thing.

"Well, that rules you out, Pip," Merry teased his cousin, who nodded in agreement before registering what he just said.

Faolan was truly amazed at the willingness of five races to band together on the most important quest in Middle-earth, and the bond that the hobbits seemed to share. They were all loyal to one another and we willing to stand in harm's way to help those they so cared about. This type of bond was familiar to Faolan – like the close-knit bonds of a wolf pack. Out of the corner of her eye, Faolan noticed Gandalf glance at her with an expectant look. Of course, not_ every_ race in the room had banded together; Faolan was the odd one out, yet she averted her gaze, not wanting to be involved any more. She had come this far and had enough trouble resisting the Ring as it was and as the power of the Ring grows, she feared she would only bring more danger to the company than she would assistance. And she had promised herself she would return to her tribe who would be terribly worried about her by now. The she-Varg stayed firmly in her seat, as Elrond examined the group.

"Nine companions," he said approvingly, "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great," Pippin grinned, quite pleased, but there was one thing he was missing; "Where are we going?"

Burying her face in her hand, Faolan sighed, "There's no hope for him at all is there."


	6. Decisions

**A much shorter chapter than the others, but important nonetheless. Pay attention, peeps.**

* * *

As the Fellowship went through the packing stage, Faolan helped the inexperienced hobbits decide what they will need to take with them. There were recommended to carry only what they needed, and not so much that it was too heavy for them to be able to move. So Faolan started with the essentials; something to sleep in and stuff to eat. The hobbits packed a bed roll which was quite small when packed and a blanket which they would sleep in. Food the hobbits would not carry, but would be packed onto Bill the pony and would be left in the charge of someone sensible with food, which ruled out the hobbits entirely. They would have water skins to hold precious water with, though water may be easy to come by, Faolan suggested that they used it sparingly in case the weather was dry in some places. The next important thing was defence. Though the hobbits were unlikely to do any fighting towards the beginning of the journey, it was more than likely that they would encounter many dangers on their trip and would need to engage in combat at some point. Faolan had them have their swords that Aragorn gave them on their person at all times and encouraged them to have some training in swordplay. Faolan allowed Sam to take a few cooking items with him so that the Fellowship could have hot meals, but not too many that it would weigh him down, as strong a hobbit as he was. With the essentials organised, Faolan let them decide the non-essentials that they would take and had them test the weight and decide if they could cope with carrying it throughout the day with minimal rest stops. Gandalf had plotted the route the Fellowship was to take to Mordor which involved relatively temperate to warm climates so the hobbits didn't bother with taking heavily woollen clothes.

With the packing sorted, the Fellowship ensured they were well fed and rested for the beginning of their journey the next day. For some reason, and Faolan couldn't imagine what the reason could be, the Fellowship waited for about two months before setting off on their journey. The sooner the better, Faolan thought, but the elf-lord didn't share that notion. The she-Varg became irritable, for she wanted to go home as soon as she could, yet she wanted to see the Fellowship off also. Dusk began to draw to a close as Faolan sat on a rock in wolf form gazing into the waters of the Bruinen River that hurried purposefully down the valley. She turned her ears back as she heard Gandalf approach. "If you have come to convince me to change my mind, you're wasting your time," she snorted, instead of greeting him in a polite way.

The wizard had the uncanny ability to understand wolves' speech, as Bilbo pointed out in their encounter with wargs, and knew what Faolan's every growl and whimper meant. He stood by her, leaning on his staff. "You are certain you will not accompany us?" he asked, despite her warning.

"I will only be a danger to you all, and I don't want anything terrible to happen to Frodo because of me," Faolan retorted.

"You know that is not who you are," the wizard tried to reassure her.

"It is who I could become!" she growled louder, "The Ring's power grows and I become less able to resist it. That is why I will not come."

"The Ring affects us all. We all help each other through the hardships to resist the temptation of evil."

Faolan looked up from the water. Now that he mentioned it, Gandalf had a point; Boromir too reacted strongly to the Ring's presence, yet the Fellowship was there to help him fight its seduction. The pull of the Ring was no reason for Faolan not to go. Yet, persistent as she was, Faolan had her pack to return to. She shook herself and growled, "My kind don't belong in the open anymore. I must go back to my pack and live the secluded life as I always have done."

"What made you lead the hobbits to Bree?" Gandalf questioned.

Faolan cocked her head at the question. Initially she thought it a bad idea and interfering mistake, but looking back at the scene in the Old Forest that happened many weeks ago, recalling her thoughts at the time, she knew why. "Because I knew that the Ring should not go back to Sauron," she whined, "And because I wanted to hobbits to be safe. I didn't want them to be murdered unjustly. Too many innocent lives had been lost by the doing of the Dark Lord and of the Vargkyn."

"Will you not go for the hobbits?"

Faolan did not answer. She scowled looking down at her paws.

"Will you not go for your kind?"

For her kind? For the Vargkyn's retribution against Sauron? Revenge wasn't Faolan's style. And why should she take the responsibility for something she did not do? If the Vargkyn wanted revenge then let some other silly Varg get involved; Faolan was not going to be that Varg. The wolf slumped onto her belly and growled stubbornly, "I will _not_ go."

A sad and somewhat disappointed look crossed Gandalf's old face. "So be it," he murmured and turned away, walking back up the river bank using his staff for support. When Faolan was certain the wizard was gone, she laid her head on her white paws and huffed, pondering Gandalf's words.


	7. Nine Plus One

**Some people might not like this chapter as the previous one may have made them think that something different might happen. I know how some people don't like these '10th walker' things. But hopefully this will apease them since there's a lot more behind Faolan's decision than just bravery which I see a lot of in LotR fics with OCs. Anyway, another footnote at the bottom, just so you know. Enjoy :)**

* * *

To her surprise, Faolan found herself on the same rock on the river bank where she had her conversation with Gandalf when she woke. Before she drifted into sleep the previous evening she thought thoroughly about the choice in front of her; she still had the chance to either stick to her first decision to go home, or change her mind and accompany the Fellowship to Mordor. Faolan didn't have that choice for long though. She lifted her head and turned her muzzle to sky, checking the position of the sun for the time of day. The warm, radiant ball of light hovered over the peaks of the Misty Mountains to the east, which meant in December it was around mid-morning. The she-varg nearly fell off the rock in shock that she slept for so long and that the company may have already left. Faolan leapt off her rock and loped to the courtyard by the southern gate where the Fellowship was to depart, barking frantically.

* * *

As straightforward and impulsive as a wolf's mind is, the mind of a Vargkyn is somewhat more complicated. What repeatedly went through Faolan's mind that night was a matter of serious decision making, and that was not one of her strengths. One of the reasons that Faolan was fourth ranking female was because she lacked many leadership qualities such as making serious decisions in a split second, so it is no surprise that this was rather stressful and irritating for her. Faolan kept thinking over what Gandalf had said to her, her reasons behind her previous decision and every possible advantage and disadvantage that could come from each of these things.

It was instinct that told her to go home back to the Old Forest, for her own protection, that of her tribe and also of the Fellowship. In going home, she would not be involved in any battles and the chance of being killed was low, and she would be there to hunt for her pack and perform her normal duties. Also, in her absence, the Fellowship, especially Frodo, would be safe from her darker side that became more prominent with the gradual growth in the Ring's power. If and when the Ring possessed her, she could easily kill a hobbit or hatch a cunning plan to relieve him of the Ring's burden.

On the other hand, the Fellowship may struggle without her. It was true that they had a powerful wizard in their company and four great warriors, but Faolan's natural Vargkyn abilities, the wolf senses and the shape shifting, could be useful to them; she'd make an excellent scout or night watch and could hunt for them if the supply of food dwindled. Of course, Legolas the elf had sight and hearing that rivalled that of Faolan, but even elves need to sleep. While curled up cosily in her den at home, the she-varg could be doing something helpful for the Fellowship that they would otherwise fail without. And that is what Faolan wanted to do the moment she got caught up in the Ring-related mess – she wanted to help, and to do the right thing, which was why she led the hobbits safely to Bree. Why should she stop now when there was so much more she could do for the hobbit and the quest?

* * *

Her decision was made. As much as she yearned to see her family again, Faolan knew what she wanted to do, and what was the right thing to do. She had said it herself when Lord Elrond invited her to the council; "It is only right to have at least one of every race together," and the same goes with the Fellowship. If she did not, not only will the world see her race as murderers, but as apathetic villains who would let Middle-earth fall into ruin. Faolan would have everyone see the Vargkyn in a different light; she had achieved this with Elrond which gratified her very much. There was no reason that she could not accomplish the same with the majority of others.

Assembled in the courtyard stood the Fellowship with their backs to the gate; the taller members, Legolas, Boromir, Gandalf and Aragorn stood at the back; at the front were the hobbits Merry, Pippin, Sam (with Bill the pony, of course), and Frodo who stood slightly further forward than the rest. Before the Fellowship stood Elrond, his offspring, and a number of other elves who gathered to bid the company farewell. The elf-Lord began to speak when Faolan the Vargkyn came charging through an archway yelling, "Wait!"

Angered at being so rudely interrupted at such an important moment, Elrond scowled at the young female who skidded to a halt and stood confidently in her man-like form between the elves and the Fellowship. "Stand down, *per-draug, and restrain yourself from disturbing such an imperative moment in the history of Middle-earth," Elrond asserted. He did not raise his voice, but his expression said that he was furious with Faolan.

The she-Varg lowered her ears and apologised, "My sincere apologies, my Lord. But I do hope that it is not too late to join in with your merry adventure." Faolan put on a slightly teasing tone, as she turned to the company. She looked Gandalf in the eye, but did not say anything to him as he understood what Faolan was trying to do. "I do not think myself responsible for the wrongs of my ancestors, but now that I see the opportunity, I will gladly take up the responsibility of righting those wrongs, and changing the world's views of the Vargkyn. I know that with this humourous bunch standing side by side we can all get through this together and help little Frodo complete the near impossible task that he has so courageously taken upon himself, as well as helping each other with their own personal burdens. So, if you wouldn't mind, my Lord, allow me to run with and guard the ambitious company, for it seems it is missing a member of a certain race that opposes the darkness also."

Faolan waited patiently as the Fellowship and elves gazed at her wonderingly. Even if Elrond declined her request, she'd still follow them anyway regardless, as what you might call a plus one. After some consideration Lord Elrond agreed with a slight smirk to let her accompany the men, elf, dwarf, hobbits and wizard. He did not express his feelings on the matter, but Faolan sensed that he as well as Gandalf was pleased.

The departure of the Fellowship was delayed because of Faolan's sudden realisation; she had to gather her own essentials before joining with the Fellowship by the southern gate, again. Faolan also asked Elrond if he would be kind enough to send a messenger to her tribe of her whereabouts, the quest and her well-being, since she would be unable to do so herself. The elf-lord agreed and assured Faolan that a fellow canine would relay the message, rather than a proud elf on horseback that may intimidate the Vargkyn tribe. The she-Varg stood by Pippin, her tail swished from side to side, excited. He gave her a gentle nudge, nodded approvingly at her and fascinated by her impeccable, if somewhat off, timing skills. At dusk, the assembly commenced for a second time, and Elrond began the farewells without interruption, "The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of elves and men and all free folk go with you."

The elves made their respectful gesture with the right hand to the heart, while Faolan bowed her head, ears flat, tail hanging down straight. Gandalf then spoke up in his old wise voice, "The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer."

Frodo hesitantly turned to the gate and lead the rest of the group through the stone archway as they walked in single file. Faolan's ear twitched as she heard Frodo whisper to Gandalf something along the lines of, "Mordor - left or right?"

"Left," he replied. Faolan was sure he wasn't asking which hand the wizard wrote with. The travellers turned left down the path that lead eastward to the Misty Mountains and Faolan grimaced and let out a low whine. This was going to be a long trip.

* * *

**Translation & Pronunciation**

I tried a little elvish in this chapter. Allow me to educate;

*"per-draug" from the elvish words 'half' – 'per' (pair), and 'wolf' – 'draug' (drowg). And there you have it. Half-wolf, per-draug.


	8. Quest's Beginning

**My god, it's been such a long time. I'm not sure I have a good explanation for the delay other than my own laziness and preoccupation with other things. I'm very sorry for the wait. I am still alive and doing stuff, I haven't abandoned anything, especially not this story, I like it too much. But anyway, here is the next long awaited chapter. I'll admit, it's probably very sloppy; it's been sat on my memory stick for weeks on end not doing anything and I just wanted to get it out of the way to be honest. XD Just read it, and hopefully it's not too bad, and the next one will follow soon.**

* * *

For the next forty days the Fellowship travelled south on the foothills on the west side of the Misty Mountains, where eventually they should come to the Gap of Rohan, so called because it was literally a gap between two mountain ranges, and turn eastward approaching Mordor from the west. The prospect of actually going to Mordor had not quite fully registered in Faolan's mind yet as she felt content and almost happy about going on the quest. The same went for most of the hobbits who were inexperienced in the world outside of the Shire and had no idea what lie in wait for them in the shadows in the east.

As they trekked over hill and stream, they travelled in a line most of the time and Faolan, in her wolf's mind, began to see some resemblance to a wolf pack; Gandalf, the most powerful and of the highest authority always travelled up front since he knew exactly where their road was taking them. All the subordinate members of the Fellowship, which included everyone but the wizard walked behind in his wake. However, a difference that the she-varg noticed was that the physically weakest members, which counted the hobbits, took their place in the middle of the group rather than tagging along at the back. This was so that the person or people at the back could keep an eye on them, making sure they did not fall behind. Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli took it in turns to walk behind and keep an eye on the little ones. Faolan's position in the group was never a fixed one; at times she'd run ahead of the group, scouting for danger that may lay in wait for them further on their road. Other times, she'd be with the hobbits in the middle of the group or walking with one of the taller members at the back.

As well as travelling in a similar manner to wolves, the company had also begun to form their own relationships with the other members. The rivalry between Legolas and Gimli was particularly amusing to watch. Apparently this had something to do with the Elven-king, Legolas' father, imprisoning Gimi's father, Gloin during Biblo's journey to the Lonely Mountain. Merry and Pippin formed a friendship with Boromir, who in turn grew quite protective of the young hobbits. Frodo kept to his closest friends, Sam, Gandalf and his cousins, and so he should have; even in the Fellowship it was difficult for him to trust people. It was difficult to trust anyone in Middle-earth these days. Faolan formed closer bonds with her new hobbit friends, and also Gandalf and Aragorn, although the same could not be said for the elf, dwarf and man of Gondor. Despite the others and Faolan herself trying to encourage them, they still doubted her allegiance and her abilities as a female. Many times Faolan tried to start a friendly conversation with one of them, but every time they rejected her advances and dismissed her. Eventually, the she-varg gave up and decided that she would have to earn their trust another way, and was certain that with the time the journey would take, there would be plenty of opportunities.

Faolan wasn't always content and revelling in the freedom of being out in the open though. There were days when she'd get irritable and stressed, not only because of the Ring's effect on her but the inevitable and unavoidable fact of female biology too. The female Vargkyn's reproductive cycle is the same as a wolf's with hormone levels rising and falling at the different stages. In winter, females come into oestrus, when wolves would mate, which lasts for about a week. As well as having the wolf's internal mechanisms, the psychological effects were quite human; Faolan became more snappy and argumentative than usual and occasionally said things she didn't mean. Her mood changed rapidly and in an extreme emotional state, acted irrationally to insignificant things. Because of this behaviour, Faolan kept her distance from the group so that she did not bite off any fingers, or toes in the cases of the hobbits. During these days, Faolan slept a lot more; she went to bed earlier and woke up later than the others, and let me tell you that convincing a fiery tempered vargkyn to get up is no easy task. What annoyed the Fellowship the most about Faolan's femininity was her constant whining about how tired or how hungry she was, which was verging on matching Pippin's hunger whinging. Her appetite as well as her mood changed and the she-varg could eat twice as much as she normally would given the chance.

The Fellowship gathered on a rocky outcrop on an early January afternoon. The weather was pleasantly mild for winter and Faolan sat upon a rock with a full stomach in the warm sunlight; Sam's cooking was certainly something to behold. She watched the youngest hobbits practising sword combat with Boromir, occasionally offering one or two helpful tips, as did Aragorn while he indulged in smoking his pipe. Sam and Frodo also watched while eating 'afternoon tea'. While Faolan made the most of a little time relaxing from the journey, Legolas took the duty of look-out and gazed over the landscape to the north. Meanwhile, Gimli with his characteristically gruff voice pestered Gandalf about the route the Fellowship was taking who calmly but thoughtfully watched over the company from a taller height.

"Not bad at all," the she-varg complimented the cousins from her perch, "You shall become little warriors in no time."

The hobbits gave their thanks before returning to practising their parries against the skilled Gondorian. It was Pippin's turn when the man's blade accidently slipped, cutting open the hobbit's hand. There was a short yelp and clatter as the hobbit dropped his short sword from the shock and stinging pain. Boromir quickly apologised, "Sorry!" but before he could act, both Pippin and Merry tackled him to the ground. From her elevated height, the she-varg rotated an ear back in a puzzled expression as she watched the scuffle that soon turned into friendly and playful horse-play. "Such pups," Faolan mumbled to herself, shaking her head.

Faolan watched Legolas in the corner of her eye gracefully leap from rock to rock to a new perch facing south. His flawless face held a worried expression as he tried to focus on something far away in the distance. Concerned, Faolan hopped down from her rock to investigate. "What's wrong?" she asked, voice low so as not to alert the others.

Legolas didn't reply, trying to concentrate on what danger there might be. Instinctively, the she-varg scented the air, but her efforts her futile as the wind was blowing from the North rather than the South. The elf's gaze was fixed on a dark grey smudge against the pale sky. It could have been a storm cloud, but clouds just do not form isolated on their own. The smudge seemed to be moving towards where the Fellowship was gathered, suggesting that whatever it was, it could propel itself against the force of the wind. Faolan came to the conclusion that it was a flock of some species of bird, but without their scent, she could not determine what species or what their intentions were.

Behind her, the playful tussle had died down. The others had noticed the curious moving smudge and made suggestions between themselves as to what it might be. Gandalf was quiet and evidently worried. Faolan had picked up over the last few weeks that when the wizard goes silent, that is a good cause to worry; it was only when he was muted that he was pondering hard over something, and when he was pondering that hard, the subject usually isn't a pleasant one.

Faolan felt the adrenaline rushing through her veins with anxiety and anticipation. A deathly silence descended on the outcrop, broken suddenly by Legolas' warning, "Crebain from Dunland!"

"Hide!" Aragorn commanded as the company rushed to grab their possession, put out the fire and find a hiding place under the overhanging rocks and thick foliage. Faolan darted to the nearest place she could find and lay as flat as she could between a large boulder and a patch of the shrubs, making sure to tuck her legs and tail close to her body. The leafy twigs acted like a canopy concealing her from sight. Apparently Boromir had his eye on this hiding place too when the great lump of a man almost fell, landing on Faolan's foot and crushing it with a pointy elbow. She growled and struggled in protest and discomfort, attempting to push him off.

The air rang with the raucous caws of many birds as the flock of crows enveloped the outcrop. The flapping of hundreds of wings was like a gale of wind in the highest of highlands; Faolan was almost forced to flatten her ears against her head to muffle the sound. This went on for a few minutes until the crows manoeuvred in unison and turned back South the way they came.

As the cawing died down, members of the Fellowship emerged from their hiding places one by one, watching the flock slowly fade into the distance. Faolan leapt from the shrubs and examined her crushed foot. Luckily, it wasn't seriously damaged and only slightly bruised; she will still be able to walk or run if she needed to. The company converged around Gandalf, as though expecting an alternative plan of action now that their whereabouts had been discovered. "Spies of Saruman. The passage south is being watched," Gandalf looked thoughtful with a hint of worry. Whatever different path that they must take, each one of them was prepared to brave the hardships, if that was what kept them from being captured or killed and the world falling to the Dark Lord. Removing pieces of twigs from her hair and mane, Faolan quietly awaited the wizard's answer. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras," he declared, glancing up at tall, craggy and snow-topped peak. It made Faolan dizzy just looking at it.

"We have to climb up _that_?" Faolan let out a whine of dismay. Mountains weren't easy terrain to cross, especially in winter when snow storms are frequent and avalanches can occur, not to mention the bitterly cold temperatures and biting winds.

"You're half wolf, this should be easy for you," Sam tried to point out the positives in an attempt to reassure Faolan, with a slight hint of jealously that she had an advantage over the others.

"I am a forest dwelling vargkyn, I have never scaled a mountain in my life. But you do have a point; after all I can change to have a thick coat of fur and large paws. I worry about the rest of you; you'll be slow, and if the weather is not on our side you will soon be in cold icy graves."

"Let's just hope for the best," Sam took the situation in his stride and followed with his master at his side as the Fellowship started up a higher path, all the time gaining altitude. Faolan gave a hum of agreement, and jogged to catch up. It was true that she had an advantage, and as she promised when she first decided to take this journey, she will use it to help the others in any way she can. I mountain certainly was not going to hinder the she-varg, not matter how harsh or cruel.


	9. Over the Mountains

**Next chapter. Yay! This is a _long_ one; nearly 8 and a half pages on Word. My thanks to all those who follow and review this story, I really appreciate it. :)  
While I was writing this I did a lot of thinking and a few questions I hadn't asked myself or anyone had asked me before crossed my mind. One of them being "Does Faolan wear shoes?" I've decided, yes she does wear shoes when she's not in wolf form; her feet aren't like hobbits'. They'll probably be like boots, good for travelling and stuffs. Another question was "What would her voice sound like?" Obviously, it's a female voice, and given the origins of her name, I thought it would be suitable for her to have a slight irish accent. Just a few bits of info there to help build up more on a picture of Faolan.  
I also had many an interesting thought regarding future chapters but I'm not going to share them until the time comes I'm afraid. I don't think there's much else to say other than have fun with reading 5,554 words! ;D**

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Climbing the foothills was easy enough for the company, of whom all had grown accustomed to walking for the majority of a day and the wildness of the terrain. At first the ground was only flecked with small patches of untouched white snow, but as they continually gained altitude the patches grew larger in size. Some of them spread out wide, while others turned into mounds that one could easily be swallowed in if they were not careful with their footing.

High above the valleys and lesser hills, the sky was a pure and clear blue, and on the slopes the Fellowship waded through a thick blanket of snow. The air was much thinner at such heights and everyone tired quicker from the lower amount of oxygen available. Faolan took to her wolf form on this part of the journey as her thick coat of grey and white fur kept her warm and her paws prevented her from sinking into the snow drifts. This time she led the group, forging a path through the snow with her powerful legs and deep chest that the others followed in, the compacted snow forming an easy path. Because Faolan wasn't sure where she was heading, Gandalf was second in line giving instruction when they needed to climb yet another slope or turn to another direction. The going was slow and steady as the hobbits, dwarf and men often slipped on some snow that moved under their feet, or fell and rolled back down. Faolan was surprised to notice that Legolas slipped less often than she did, in fact, he didn't waver once; despite the temperature and uneven lumpy surface, he still stood tall and confident. "These creatures will never cease to amaze me," Faolan thought to herself as she looked back at the company to assess how they were progressing.

It was a bright, clear day and the sun's light reflected off the sheet of snow that surrounded them, accentuating the brightness. It was times like these when one could not decide whether they too hot or too cold and became irritable as they wrestled with the dilemma. Frodo, like many of the others, had developed a cold and was lagging behind with Aragorn who encouraged him to keep going. The company halted when a call from the ranger caught their attention. Faolan turned to observe the situation, as did her companions, the snow crunching beneath her paws. The hobbit dusted off the flakes from his clothes as Aragorn lifted him up and checked that the Ring was still safely around his neck. A glint of light on the slope caught the she-varg's eye; the chain must have fallen from Frodo's neck as he rolled down the slope. The Gondorian man lifted the silver chain and held it up to his face, gazing at the Ring wonderingly.

"Boromir," Aragorn said quite calmly, trying to draw his attention.

Boromir seemed to be caught in some sort of trance as he began muttering words only just audible to Faolan's ears. "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing."

A sharp growl escaped Faolan's throat and her hackles rose. This man could not be trusted; she would have him travel up front where she can keep an eye on him.

Aragorn called louder, "Boromir!" The man snapped out of his trance and returned back to earth and back to the snow topped mountain. "Give the Ring to Frodo," Aragorn almost growled the command, and Faolan could see him covertly grip the hilt of his sword.

Boromir hesitated for a second before stepping forward with the chain and Ring outstretched. "As you wish," he said coolly, as if trying to sound innocent, "I care not." A few of the other members may have been fooled, but the she-varg certainly was not. She allowed herself to relax when Frodo snatched the Ring from the man's grip.

As the tension began to diffuse, the company continued up the slope and Faolan bounded through the fresh untainted snow ahead of her. The rest of the day continued in much the same manner; idle chatter occurred between one another, they made one or two stops to relieve themselves and regain some energy, and of course people continued to fall over much to the amusement of the Elven prince and she-varg.

By dusk, the peak had become steeper and more treacherous. The Fellowship came to a halt and began to settle down as Gandalf noted they could not travel in the dark for fear of someone falling over the edge. For a second, the thought of giving Boromir a little nudge off the ridge crossed her mind. When she realised, she scolded herself for thinking such thoughts and feared that Ring was having a murderous effect on her, beckoning to the killer instinct in her blood. Faolan sat on a bare patch of rock, a few yards away from where the less furred members of the group bunched together, looking up at the sky thoughtfully; dull grey clouds were beginning to gather and the wind had picked up as gusts of cold air ruffled the wolf's fur. "I have a feeling the weather is not looking good for tomorrow," she gave a soft bark to the wizard.

"Let us hope the storm passes during the night," he replied, somewhat worried, "It would be dangerous to walk the ridges in a blizzard."

Faolan nodded in agreement. Perhaps, if the weather did prove to be bad, they would have to stay where they were until to worst was over.

Dinner was cooked by Sam, now officially the company chef. That evening it was an improvised stew, comprised of whatever foodstuffs they had with them with a little bread on the side, to warm the Fellowship up on the inside and lift their spirits. When Faolan joined the congregation and sat on her rump, she did not require a spoon but instead lapped the liquids up from the bowl and gulped down the meat and vegetables – chewing was barely necessary in her canine form, especially when the morsels were as small as they were. During and after dinner, the Fellowship took the opportunity to unwind and sat around the little fire, wrapped up in their cloaks and talking mostly about the journey, Gandalf being Faolan's translator when she took part in the conversations. At last the tiredness kicked in and the last person went to bed, leaving the mountain quiet, except for spitting of embers and light gusts of wind.

* * *

The weather had not cleared up the following morning; the storm clouds had thickened and obstructed Caradhras' summit from view. Gusts had turned into gales, blowing flurries of snow in the faces of the company. Gandalf insisted that they press on as quickly as they could in the hope of getting over the mountain before the storm really began to show itself. The sleepy hobbits were nudged awake and had a meagre breakfast as they travelled.

They trudged single file along the ridge, Legolas in front who seemed to walk on top of the snow rather than through it, completely unhindered by the intensifying storm. Faolan ploughed a path through it as she had done before, but the strong wind was against her, forcing her to push through with all the strength she could muster. As the day progressed the snow began the pile up, making it impossible to the vargkyn to walk normally; she resorted to leaping in high arc to break up the snow before her. This was extremely hard work and eventually Faolan stopped, panting heavily, her hot breath turning into vapour as it met the freezing air. Failing to notice that the she-varg had stopped, Gandalf bumped into her, causing her to yelp with shock.

"Why have you stopped, Faolan?" he yelled to be heard above the howls of the wind, "We must keep moving!"

"I cannot go any further until I have rested," Faolan growled, getting increasingly irritated, "You try forcing your way through four feet of snow in a gale, see how you like it!"

The wizard did not speak but retorted by taking the wolf by the scruff of her neck and pulling her behind him. He then proceeded to carve a path out of the snow with his staff. The she-varg grumbled to herself as she padded to the middle of the line next to the shivering hobbits, Merry and Pippin. Sam and Frodo had taken shelter in Aragorn's cloak. They were affected by the cold the most as their colour went almost blue. She lowered her ears slightly and invited them to huddle up to her warm pelt and share her body heat. They pressed their small frozen frames against her flanks as they walked steadily on Gandalf's forged path.

The elven prince stopped and stood on the precarious edge, ears perked listening intently for something. "Can you hear that, Faolan?" he called from ahead, aware that her hearing would match his own.

"I can hardly hear anything because it's so damn windy!" she replied with a harsh growl, "Not that there's any point in my answering, you can't understand me."

"There is a fell voice on the air."

Faolan focused, trying to block out the wind and listen. There was a deep echoing voice, but the she-varg couldn't decipher what it was saying. She snapped at the air, as if to force it to cease.

Gandalf held his hat on his head as a strong waft of air threatened to whip it off. "It's Saruman!" he yelled over the wind. A sudden crack sounded high above them as huge rumps of rock came tumbling from the taller reaches of the peak. Everyone leapt back against the rock face as the boulders plummeted past the ridge and landed somewhere in the fog below. Faolan wondered how that many rocks could fall from the same point at once.

Aragorn called out desperately, "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"

Gandalf refused. He stepped up to the edge and chanted something, most likely a spell, over the hills. Just as Saruman's voice echoed, Gandalf's chant bounced off the walls of the mountains. Not completely sure what was actually happening, Faolan watched with confusion and concern, unsure of what else to do. There was a flash of lightning and a crash. The she-varg looked up, gold eyes squinting. A great load of snow was falling straight towards them. Faolan let out a whimper before she and everyone else threw their bodies against the rock. There was a loud thundering sound and an immensely strong force that knocked the wolf of her paws.

There after it went quiet. The muffled sounds of her companions struggling and gasping for air could be heard. They had been buried under tonnes of snow and fought to get themselves free. Faolan panicked briefly, scrabbling with her forepaws to dig her way out. Eventually her muzzle and forelegs burst through the surface and she snorted and coughed from the snowflakes that found their way into her mouth and nostrils. The bodies of her companions also emerged from the mound, flailing about and shaking the snow from their hair and clothes.

Boromir spoke up this time, much to Faolan's annoyance. She could understand why she would be suspicious of him due to his attraction to the Ring but there was no real reason for her to dislike him this much. Then why did she feel such emotions? "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the west road to my city."

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn butt in with his own thoughts.

Gimli then suggested an alternative route, "We cannot pass over the mountain. Let us go under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

"I'm not really bothered which way we go, as long as it's away from the cold and snow," Faolan growled, growing impatient.

"Let the Ringbearer decide," Gandalf said, seeming a bit hesitant. It was Frodo's quest and it only made sense that he should be the one to decide how they go about the journey.

Frodo looked up in surprise, then glanced at Sam for reassurance and guidance. The company sat quietly for a minute, eagerly awaiting the hobbit's decision. "We will go through the mines," Frodo said confidently, his decision made.

Faolan leapt out of the snow mound with renewed spirit and energy. "Great! Let's get out of this horrible storm," she said trotting to the front of the line. It wouldn't really have mattered which way Frodo decided they would go, as long as they weren't on the slopes of Caradhras, Faolan would still have reacted the same way. Gandalf relayed her instruction and the group formed the single file line again. Faolan was planning on finding perhaps a cave that they could shelter in while the remainder of the storm passed, but she didn't know this territory at all and wasn't sure if there were any caves or if they were vacant.

Already the blizzard began to gently ease into light snow shower. After around an hour's more walking, Faolan spotted an apparent gap in the rock face. She excitedly bounded over to inspect it. There was a rather sizeable opening here, but it was blocked up with large rocks, possibly from the rock fall caused by Saruman. She gave a determined growl as she began to shift the rocks, pulling them away from the opening with her large paws, starting at the top so that they didn't fall on her. The others watched as they noticed rock after rock rolling from the ridge over the edge into the clouds below.

"I've got it!" the she-varg barked when the last rock revealed an opening wide and tall enough for man and pony to pass through. She gestured for the others to stay where they were while she inspected the cave. Padding silently into the mouth she kept her senses alert for any sign of living creatures. Eyes penetrating through the darkness, she could see to the back of the cave which is about three yards from the entrance. There were no shapes of any beasts, nor were there any distinct scents; this cave had not been occupied in a long time. Outside the Fellowship waited anxiously for Faolan to reappear or let out a yelp or a bark. A wait that seemed to last for hours, but only in fact lasted a couple of minutes, finally ended when the she-varg's muzzle appeared round the corner unmarked and unharmed. "It is safe," she declared, and Gandalf gestured for the company to go inside.

The cave floor was bare and dry; much more comfortable to sleep on than snow and ice. And there was plenty of space for them to move around, unlike on the ridge where the space was so narrow that everyone gathered in a clump at dinner time and when they slept. Bill the pony was certainly happy to have more space being the largest out of all of them. A fire was quickly lit near the mouth of the cave for light and warmth that the freezing members huddled around. When Faolan found herself a comfy spot, she let herself flop onto her side and sighed deeply. "I ache, all over," she groaned, feeling her overworked muscles cry with agony. She did not eat that night but fell straight to sleep, exhausted. Faolan was quite capable of surviving long periods of time without food and missing one evening meal was hardly a problem.

* * *

Faolan was so deep in her slumber that she missed the conversations and everyone going to bed. She was quite content up until she jolted awake from a disturbance outside. Lifting her head off the stone floor, she rotated her ears listening for any peculiar sounds. Among the sniffling of those who had developed colds, the wind outside and Gimli's snoring, there was nothing. As it was still dark outside, Faolan guessed that it wasn't yet dawn, and prepared to go back to sleep when she heard a howl. It was not the howling of the wind between the mountains, but the rallying howl of a wolf. Had Faolan accidently lead the Fellowship into a wolf pack's territory? The she-varg slowly and shakily lifted herself up so as not to cause too much pain in her muscles, which still ached from so much walking and leaping. It was likely that the wolves were heading out to hunt at this time of day and Faolan positioned herself as a look-out outside - they may have caught her scent, or the scent of Bill, thinking they would be easy prey.

Other wolves began to join in with the howl, readying themselves for the hunt. Faolan sat boldly, waiting patiently for their arrival. She was beginning to get bored; she was actually looking forward to contact with other canids whether friendly or not. Just in the nick of time, the crunch of a hunter's pawsteps in the snow to her right caught Faolan's attention. A male common wolf came into view followed by four other hunters. This had bold dark markings and evidently the leader. His second in command stood beside him, subordinates behind.

"You won't find any food here, my friends," Faolan addressed them calmly, still sat upright at her post.

The pack stopped and tilted their heads puzzled.

"What business do you have in our territory?" the leader growled, ears pressed forward and tail raised.

Faolan turned her muzzle away respectfully so she did not provoke him. Though she was bigger than the bulkiest wolf of the pack, there were many of them and probably could overpower her together. "My companions and I are just passing through. And, if I'm honest, we would not have come this way if we had known it was your territory; I picked up no scent at all. You might want to improve on your marking skills if you want to prevent this from happening again."

The male snarled, stalking towards Foalan and confronted her, sizing her up. "You've got some nerve for an intruder. Who are you travelling with? They are not wolves, I can tell by their scent. You've got men and dwarves in there...and ponies too."

"_They_ are my friends," Faolan retorted standing up tall, demonstrating her size, "And I won't allow you or your packmates to hurt them." Her eyes followed the wolf cautiously as he paced back and forth, as if look for a weak spot.

"Friends?" he asked disgusted. "Men are no friends of wolves!"

Faolan growled defiantly, "I am not _just_ a wolf! I am a vargkyn! Now, leave us be."

The pack quietly muttered remarks among themselves and quickly silenced when their leader shot them a dominant glare. "Give up the pony," he growled, "and we'll allow you and your "friends" to pass through unharmed."

Faolan glanced back at Bill who shifted and snorted nervously. "I'm afraid I cannot do that."

The male held his tail horizontally, crouched in an attack stance and growled, baring his teeth, "Then _you_ shall be fed to the pack."

Adopting a defensive posture, ears and lips pulled forward in a snarl, her own tail raised horizontal, Faolan taunted, "I'd like to see you try."

In a rage, the male lunged forward, jaws open ready to close around Faolan's throat. Anticipating this, Faolan leapt to the side and from behind grabbed the wolf by the back of the neck with her larger, more powerful jaws. The male yelped with sock as the she-varg held him in a pacifying grip. The wolf's second in command leapt forward to protect his leader, before Faolan dragged the submissive male to the edge of the ridge and held him over a thousand foot drop. "Come any closer and I drop him," Faolan growled through a mouthful of scruff. She wouldn't kill one of her kin, but hoped that the threat would be enough to force the pack into submission. The beta skidded to a halt and lowered his ears, glancing at his leader, worried.

Back inside the cave, Aragorn awoke, hearing the commotion outside. Quietly pulling his sword from its scabbard, he slowly edged to the mouth of the cave to investigate. Faolan's ears turned back as the man's footsteps echoed off the cave walls. "Be gone," she growled sternly at the pack, "You _won't _trouble us again."

The pack complied and disappeared up the slope just as Aragorn stepped out. The leader whimpered fearfully, and Faolan lifted him back up onto the ledge. The she-varg addressed him, "And that goes for you too."

Spotting the man outside the cave, the wolf lowered his body, ears flat and tail tucked tightly between his legs. "Go!" Faolan snarled, snapping at the wolf's rump. He yelped and darted away after his pack.

She exhaled deeply, calming herself down, and turned to pad back into the cave and get some more rest. Aragorn gazed at her, somewhat shocked about the wolves and confused about what happened. Knowing that they was little point in Faolan explaining at that precise moment, she nuzzled his hand as she passed him, reassuring him that everything was now alright. The man seemed to get the message as he followed the vargkyn back into the cave. Faolan curled up in her previous resting spot and reflected upon the confrontation with the wolves. "It's good that I came; if I hadn't half of these people would be dead or seriously injured," she thought to herself and assumed a little canine smile. She was happy to be where she was and the role she played, no matter how strenuous, cold or annoying it may get.

* * *

Faolan woke again a couple of hours later by the sound of morning activity in the cave. As they had breakfast and packed away their bedding, the vargkyn stretched her still aching muscles and yawned, deadly jaws parting, displaying rows of sharp teeth. She proceeded to clean the dirt of the cave floor from her fur when Legolas, who was stood outside surveying the weather, strode back in with urgency. The paw prints from Faolan's encounter with the wolves were still visible and the elf had noticed them with concern. "I think something occurred outside during the night," he addressed the wizard, "I've found around six sets of paw prints in the snow. Five of them were quite small, the other was slightly bigger."

Faolan paused in mid-lick, tongue poking out between her lips, and her ears perked. Aragorn, who knew that Faolan was involved with something that happened outside the cave, turn to the she-varg. Feeling obliged to explain, Faolan caught their attention with a gruff bark before describing the event. "That was me. Well...the bigger paw prints were me. The smaller ones were from a group of wolves in search of food. I told them they wouldn't find food here, but their leader was insistent and threatened to kill me if I didn't let them take Bill. But, with a bit of 'persuasion', I managed to see them off. They should not be troubling us again either."

Gandalf nodded, pleased and satisfied at the explanation. He in turn described the situation to those unfamiliar with wolf-speech. "I think we can thank Faolan for saving us from being a wolf's breakfast," he added. Faolan revelled in the praise she received, sitting up tall and swishing her tail. Even those who had their doubts about the she-varg, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli, gave her a pat on the back for saving their lives from the ravenous wolves. She fancied that now they had grown to trust her a little more and thought if she kept up with such deeds she'll gain their trust completely.

* * *

The party continued their journey and instead of climbing up the mountain, they headed down the slopes where the blankets of snow began the thin out until there were only a few little patches of white dotting the landscape of dark grey rocks. After a gentle descent throughout the day, Gandalf had led them to a wide lake at the bottom of the slopes. The waters were and black and stagnant; they didn't look very appealing at all.

As they strolled along the stony shore of the lake, the company's spirits were lifted now that they were no longer on the snowy ridges of Caradhras. Many of them began to have idle conversation again as they recovered from the cold weather further up the peak. However, Gandalf often had his arm wrapped around his young hobbit friend, muttering seriously. Faolan didn't catch much of the conversation but she could make out a few words with her sensitive ears; 'Ring', 'power' and 'evil', not necessarily together in the same sentence. It did not sound like a cheerful subject to discuss at all. Faolan also reverted back to her bipedal form, since she no longer needed to plough through deep snow, and also so she could talk with the other members without relying on Gandalf to translate her growls and grumbles.

As they came to a flat cliff face, Gimli gasped, "The walls of Moria." He tapped at the wall with his axe, listening, and explained, "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed."

"That's a handy trick," said Faolan, "especially if you want to avoid uninvited visitors."

Gandalf also searched the wall for the door, "Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

The elf muttered to himself, but loud enough just so the dwarf could hear, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"_That, _on the other hand, is not so good," Faolan commented.

Gandalf found an engraving within the rock face and began brushing away the dust with his hand whilst whispering inaudible words to himself. He turned, facing the sky as the full moon was unveiled, followed by an aptly placed wolf howl. The engraving in the stone lit up silver, showing the outline of the door, a crown with seven stars above, a hammer and anvil, two trees and a star between them. On the engraved arch were Elvish runes that Gandalf read out, "It reads, "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter"."

Faolan turned an ear back and raised an eyebrow. It can never be easy can it?

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked the question Faolan was thinking.

Gandalf answered with a rather straight forward explanation, "It's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." He placed the end of his staff against the star in the middle and began chanting loudly. The doors did not even shudder, unlike the Fellowship who stood out in the cold night. The wizard tried again, this time with different words and his arms raised. Again, nothing happened. Pippin had the nerve to verbally point out the obvious, much to the wizard's annoyance. Gandalf then gave the door a forceful nudge, just in case the doors were perhaps jammed. "I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men and Orcs," he grumbled, still giving the doors a futile push.

Faolan grimaced when the youngest hobbit spoke up, "What are you going to do then?" She issued him a powerful whack on the arm as punishment.

Gandalf responded by barking harsh words, "Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

Faolan lowered her ears and her gaze. She did not want to think about what an angered wizard might do to them.

As he calmed down and searched for the correct words to open the doors, the Fellowship sat around waiting. Bill the pony was relieved of his duties and sent home as he couldn't accompany them into the mines, which saddened Sam as he had grown fond of the old pony. Faolan sat on a rock with Merry and Pippin by the water grumbling to herself; she was bored, restless and cold and needed _something _to preoccupy herself with. She noted what Gandalf had called Pippin earlier and thought it rather curious. "I noticed," she began, "Gandalf called you 'Peregrin'. Is that you're proper name?"

The youngest of the hobbits turned to her a little surprised. He thought she would have known that fact about him, until he remembered that they and Faolan had met on quite urgent and suspicious terms. "It is," he answered, "But friends and family just call me 'Pippin', as you've probably already noticed. I prefer it to 'Peregrin'; that just sounds too formal."

Faolan paused for a short moment, thinking. "I quite like 'Peregrin'," she said, casually repeating the name and listening as the sounds rolled off her tongue. The hobbits gave her puzzled glances. Faolan lowered her ears apologetically – it will take a _long _time to become accustomed to a large mixed racial group completely. "I didn't like the sound of my proper name," she continued, "So I shortened to something I liked."

Merry joined in with the conversation, "What is your proper name?"

Faolan grimaced before reluctantly reciting it, "Faoiltiama. I mean, what sort of name is that? Mother must have been out of her mind!"

The three of them laughed a little, amused by the vargkyn's outburst. "I always thought my name was quite noble," Merry sat up straight as he pronounced his full name with pride, "Meriadoc."

Faolan thought the name's sound funny and stifled a laugh, "If you say so, Meriadoc."

A chorus of wolves' howling resounded around the lake, echoing off the stone walls of the mountain. Faolan turned her eyes to the sky and let out a low hum as she listened intently to the pack's song. The others merely let the melody fall on deaf ears as they did not appreciate the songs of Wolves as she did.

"What are they saying," Merry asked in a hushed voice, intrigued.

"They are not _saying_," answered the vargkyn, "they are _singing._ 'Wolf' is a collective term for the many different Wolf races which are Common wolves, White wolves, Wargs, Werewolves, and Vargkyn. We all share the language of the Wolves, the Vargkyn being an exception as we also speak and understand the Common Speech. Like any other race in Middle-earth, Wolves, except Werewolves because they are just evil, have culture and we like to make up and sing songs as much as any other being. The song that these wolves howl is a sad one. It is an old one that my kind could not hear when it was first sung. It mourns for the time when Wolf kind, particularly the Wargs, was enslaved the Dark Powers and Elves, Men, Dwarves, and all the others were to feel only distaste to Wolves. Personally, I prefer the more cheerful of tales."

Behind them, by the shining stone Doors of Durin, Gandalf cast his staff to one side and sat himself on a rock where Frodo sat. "Oh, it's useless," he grumbled.

Faolan sighed in despair at the thought of being stuck by that cold dark lake for much longer. "I don't suppose either of you know how to open those doors," she said to the hobbits, "Speak, friend, and enter, was it? What does that even mean?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Merry's face, accompanied by a long pause. "What if," he thought aloud, "the wording on the arch was wrong?"

Faolan raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "I'm sure who ever wrote that would take care not to make any mistakes."

"But it is easy sometimes to mistake a word for a different word that is similar."

Faolan didn't quite understand for she could not read or write. But, knowing that Merry's idea was better than nothing, she gave him the chance. "It doesn't make much sense to me, but we can give it a try."

Merry then shot up and rushed over to Gandalf, Faolan following closely behind. "We have been thinking," Merry said hastily, "And we think we've got an answer to this puzzle of a door."

The wizard lifted his head, listening attentively.

The hobbit continued with his idea, "We thought that perhaps the words on the arch were a bit confused, and that instead of 'speak, friend, and enter' it should be '_say_, friend, and enter'."

A glimmer of surprise flickered in Gandalf's eyes; Meriadoc may well indeed have solved this riddle. He slowly rose from the rock and said with newly kindled hope, "I think, my little friends, that you may be right. The words are written in an Elven-tongue, so let us try that first, shall we?" He then spoke the elvish word meaning 'friend', 'mellon'.

There was a sudden crack and a thin gap between two doors was visible, at least to Faolan's eyes. The doors parted and swung outwards with the sound of stone scraping against stone, revealing a huge tunnel that lead into the mountain. The she-varg's tail wagged with relief and new enthusiasm. They were free to take the path through Moria.

* * *

**And that's that...for now. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and I'll be curious to know how long it took you. xD**

**Please leave a review, let me know what you think, and if you have any questions (not about Faolan's shoes) then please do ask; I'll be more than happy to answer. :)  
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